A Journey to Marinduque

You read it right.

I'm actually here in a remote internet cafe in Boac, Marinduque trying to blog my recent misadventures. I arrived Tuesday evening after a week-long contemplation of which Philippine island to visit this Holy Week. Boracay and Puerto Galera were out of the question: they were already overflowing with people, tourists, and baggages. Besides, all the hotels and lodgings there are already reserved for the Koreans.

I eventually decided to go to Marinduque because I have never been there, and in the travel books, the pictures looked all inviting. It would also be timely as the Lenten season is special among the Marinduquenos, because of their famous Moriones Festival. I have never seen a Morion, and this is a good gaddamn chance to see one.

And so, with my backpack and photographic equipments, I rode a JAC Liner bus in Kamias, Cubao, the one going to Dalahican Port, in Lucena. From Dalahican, I could ride a ferry to Mogpog, Marinduque.

The JAC bus left the terminal in Kamias at 12 noon. There were just few passengers, and the traffic in the South superhiway was only light. Several terminal stop-overs by the driver and conductor still delayed our trip, however. You see, bus drivers and conductors in the Philippines have the annoying habit of stopping in terminals to eat, smoke cigarettes, and chat. It would have been forgivable at any other time, when you are travelling leisurely. But I have reason to be outraged, because I know that the ferry was scheduled to sail at 4 pm. If our bus arrives late, I would miss the ferry, and it would be 8 pm again before another one departs. I mentioned this to the driver and he told me to relax. I said I'll hold him responsible if we did not arrived on time. (Okay, I did not have the courage to say that last sentence because I noticed the big fist of the driver:) Actually, I just strutted back to my seat and silently hope that I'm gonna catch my boat on time.

The bus was only half-full as it was only Tuesday, and most vacationers will start the holiday on Wednesday.


Our bus arrived in Dalahican Port in Lucena at a little over 4pm. I was really now quite worried that I would miss the ferry. Fortunately, I found that it was still in the harbor with a several more minutes before departure. In my haste and anger, I totally forgot about Filipino time. After hurriedly paying my terminal fee of 25 pesos, I literally ran towards the harbor. The ferry fare was 156 pesos. The ferry, scheduled to sail at 4pm was still waiting for more passengers.



The RORO ferry at Dalahican Port, Lucena, Quezon

At 5 pm, the ferry started to hoot its horns signalling that we would start the voyage. All of us signed passenger manifest and each proceeded to reach for the most comfortable positions. I always chose to stand on the ship's rails in the uppermost deck near the stern, as it provides the most commanding view of the sea, and offers a nostalgic look of the island of Luzon as it receded from our view.


The RORO leaves Dalahican Port

I surveyed the ship with a sweeping glance: its almost filled with passengers you'd normally see on this kind of voyage: old ladies with kerchiefs wrap around their heads, old men in tight jeans, little children tended by beloved parents, and some sweet-looking couples. I have not seen any Korean tourists, though, as all of them are already in Boracay and Puerto Galera. I noticed, however, that there were a few French tourists aboard.

I guessed most of my co-passengers are Marinduque locals and some are just visitors. But I had the impression that I was the only one travelling alone. In betwen seats and in the aisles lay tons of baggages, sako, and tins of biscuits. Some even have live animals in cage like chickens and piglets.

For me, observing people had just become a habit. I never really intrude into the privacy of anyone. If I did, I would have long been mauled and dead. It's just fun to see the eccentricities and peculiarites of human beings. I am also a human being and like them, I also have my own eccentricities, and I bet you are already reading about it now.

The trip was like a voyage to Samar-Leyte all over again, as the view of the sea is the same, and the ship looked the same. Once you're in the middle of the sea, you will be impressed by the beauty of nature. But not always. In an instant you will be distracted because people keep on throwing garbage to the sea, and its outrageous. Someone ate a Nissin Cup Noodles, and after finishing the meal, he just threw the empty plastic bowl and spoon into the sea, despite the fact that a trash can was just beside him. It happened several times. A woman threw empty wrapper of Zesto, an old man threw empty packs of cigarettes. I would have reprimanded them if I were the ship's captain, but unfortunately, I was not. I was only a co-passenger without much authority.

Anyway, aside from that there wasn't anything worthwhile to say about the voyage. Even though the sea was spectacularly beautiful, three hours of voyage will eventually bore you, and you long and long to get to the shore. I think that humans are basically land-dwellers. I have only been at sea for three hours now, and this is already what I'm thinking. I guess that's the reason I could never become a seaman or an admiral. Meantime, the night has descended, and I heard from the ship's speakers that we are about twenty minutes from Mogpog. It was already about 8 pm.

From a distance, I could see lovely silhouettes of small islands and farther still the glittering lights of the nearing Port of Mogpog. From the sky, a lovely moonrise presented a wonderfully poignant spectacle: the full moon's spectacular reflections on the peaceful sea created a sense of melodramatic effect, which once more reminded me of the soothing adagio of Claude Debussy's Claire de Lune (Moonlight). I began to hum its swooningly sweet and sad tune to make myself more poignantly nostalgic. Closing my eyes, the tune continued in my mind as if that was the one and only reason for my existence.

The lovely moonlight that reminded me of Debussy's Claire de Lune

My dreamlike revelry was abruptly interrupted by the coarse sound of the ship's speakers. We were now in the Port of Mogpog, and we must now debark. At the Port, all passengers were thronged by several vendors selling their usual stuff to us: sweets, dried fish, biscuits, combs, etc. I did not buy any because I don't have any relatives here. I was only travelling on my own, and I didn't have any idea yet where to stay.

Several jeepneys and tricycles were stationed outside the port waiting for passengers going to several Marinduque towns. I didn't have any idea where to go. Exasperated, I consulted my book Insight Guides to the Philippines and flipped over to the section on Marinduque. This book is compact and can easily be hidden from the curious eyes of prying people. However, there wasn't much information there about Marinduque, although it mentioned that the capital town was Boac. I knew from experience that capital towns always had the best accommodations, and so Boac is where I'll go.

I boarded the jeep with the sign Boac. I seated on the middle of the jeep between a very fat lady, and a very frail old woman. I noticed that most of my co-passengers were also my co-passengers in the ferry, including the infamous guy who threw the Nissin Cup Noodles to the sea.

I asked the driver how much the fare was, and he answered 40 pesos. The price revealed to me the distance of Boac from Mogpog. I knew it would be a long trip. It was very dark as the road we were travelling did not have lighting. Our jeepney driver was like in steroids, driving wild with some dangerous takeovers, and I felt nervous that I will die here and nobody will know where I am. I really wished this time that I was in Cubao, lazily sleeping in my comfortable bed while listening to Mantovani orchestra.

Peering in the dark and helped by the bright moonlight, I could see that we were travelling in a very winding and narrow highway. We passed through several remote villages, deep ravines, and dangerous curves. I could see lush vegetations on both sides of the road as if I was travelling in a deep savannah. I felt that I was now very far from civilization.

After thirty minutes of travelling, we arrived in the Boac town proper. I felt a sigh of relief that our dangerous ride was over. I was now in Boac, Marinduque, and a soft breeze of air seemed to welcome my arrival. It was almost 9 pm. Boac at 9pm was like 2am in Manila. There were barely any people in the streets. Most of the business establishments were already closed. Dead tired of the long journey, I immediately searched for a hotel or a pension house. Fortunately, there was a tricycle passing by and I asked the driver to get me quickly to a hotel, but unfortunately, as I later found out, all the decent hotels in the town were already reserved for the rest of the week due to the Moriones Festival.

I therefore had no choice but to stay on a cheaper rooming house. The rooming house that I got did not have an air-conditioner, no television, and no private toilet. The common toilet is shared by my fellow lodgers. It is just 10x15 room with a single bed and....that's all. That's a lesson I must learn, learn to reserve in advance, as the Koreans do!



opppppsss---

To be continued.....(my internet time is over, says the computer operator--a ten-year old kid is already reserved for the next hour. He is going to replace me to play Ragnarok, and he's now got a mean face like a Morion!)